


Honest Sinning To Chase The Blues

by mostdaysunscathed



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (An Unconventional Form of It But it's There), Alcohol, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Protective Miya Osamu, Protective Sakusa Kiyoomi, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostdaysunscathed/pseuds/mostdaysunscathed
Summary: Miya Atsumu is no stranger to sleeping around, but his reasons for doing so aren’t as hedonistic as his personality might suggest.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 56
Kudos: 389





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic contains dark material. More specifically, themes of sexual violence and mental health issues. Please read the tags and author's notes accordingly.
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter in end notes.

Miya Atsumu is no stranger to sleeping around, but his reasons for doing so aren’t as hedonistic as his personality might suggest.

(But that’s all his personality is, right? A suggestion.)

Perhaps it was that way initially. In high school sex was fun, a way to feel good, a way to feel desirable, serotonin in its purest form. A way to bond with people, too.

But then it became something akin to atoning for his sins.

He wasn’t sure when he began to _seek it out_ per se, but these days all he searches for are strangers with a demeaning touch, cruel words that drip off tongues like honey. His skin crawls whenever he’s given kindness—something he never deserves. He walks around his empty apartment with scratch marks painted across his back, blooming spots of red and violet adorning collar bones, finger-shaped bruises snaking across his neck. When he goes to practice, he’s careful to change beforehand—or at the very least, quickly, efficiently, & away from prying eyes.

This year especially, his vices have become ingrained in his life.

It starts, unsurprisingly, when they lose a game. Atsumu can’t even remember which team they were up against—he just remembers fumbling the dump shot the opposing team’s setter pulled. He just remembers the scoreboard burning its way into his mind. He just remembers fucking up the point that lost them the game. He apologizes to the Jackals. He says it’s his fault. No one objects. It shouldn’t have surprised him.

That night, he lets a man with a sadistic grin fuck him in the dirty side alley of a bar, not enough prep to keep from crying out but just enough pain to feel like he deserved it. Each agonizing thrust is atonement for every flub, every miss, every mistake he made on the court. The man doesn’t ask before choking him, cutting off his oxygen so long he actually passes out, briefly collapsing against the wall. When he comes to, he’s alone. His face was pressed so hard against the bricks that he limps away with a scrape on his cheek. When Hinata asks about it the following practice he waves it off, making up a lie that’s something along the lines of ‘I wasn’t paying attention and walked into a wall.’ He flushes with false embarrassment when their tiny spitfire bursts into laughter.

The next domino that falls comes in the form of a phone call. His parents’ Kansai-ben crackles through the speaker and he dresses his voice in a cheerful façade. When they crack a joke about him being their last chance for grandchildren, he doesn’t laugh. Atsumu redirects the conversation as subtly as he can, and when his parents hang up, he stands silently in his kitchen for 20 minutes, his throat viciously tight.

That night he goes clubbing, his identity concealed in the rush of the partygoers. A college girl— short, cute, soft hair and dangerous eyes—brings him to her apartment and rides him until he’s rubbed his throat raw with his screams, overstimulated to the point of tears, hickies less so hickies and more so full-blown bite marks. He tries to delude himself into believing he could love her, or _any_ woman for that matter. She tugs at his hair and she comes with a shout and a different man’s name on her lips. He still finds himself missing her warmth when she kicks him out of her apartment without so much as a ‘goodnight’.

The week after that, he has a childish spat with Inunaki. He doesn’t even remember what it was about, just the look of disappointment on his coach’s face, the annoyed expressions of his teammates. His anger sputters out, snuffed out with the cold winds of shame, and he leaves the gym without another word.

After a night of heavy drinking, the early morning finds him in a love hotel tied to a bed with an older man who says he’ll ‘fuck the pride out of him’, who wants him to call him ‘daddy’, who’s intent on putting him in his place. _Someone,_ Atsumu thinks as he tries not to gag, _who will treat him like the scum that he is._ He walks out of the hotel with his head hanging low and his shoulders held high, come dripping out of him. He had asked the man to wear a condom. He refused. The sting of humiliation is sweeter than anything Atsumu could ask for.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

It’s a bandaid-fix for the thoughts echoing in his head, rattling around until something worse replaces it.

Hinata nonchalantly tells him that ‘Kageyama’s tosses are still better’. That night, Atsumu finds himself on his knees 30 seconds after meeting a stranger, sucking him off like it’s his job. When he comes down Atsumu’s throat, he pats his cheek and leaves him with a 50,000 yen note. The man had assumed he was a prostitute, and when Atsumu finally gets the strength to get up from his knees, he tosses the bill to a kid panhandling on the side of the street.

He and Osamu get into another argument over the phone, their already tattered relationship falling apart completely. He goes to a local concert and gets blackout drunk, swallowing down the pills a stranger had offered him with gusto. The next morning he has a pounding headache, no recollection of the night before, and a constellation of hickies scattered across his chest and collarbone. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he’s puking his guts out.

A false scandal hits the tabloids that he and Sakusa are dating. Everyone thought it was funny, Atsumu especially so, right until the team breaks the news to Sakusa and he looks so _disgusted_ something ugly festers in the pit of his stomach. Is he really so… undesirable? So he goes out and haunts a party, sleeping with any and every person he makes eye contact with. By the end of the party, his wrists _hurt_ , not to mention his jaw and his spine and his ass. He finishes out the night crossfaded, sore, and achingly empty.

It’s only when he collapses on his bed that he reaches his breaking point.

_This is the only way I can feel wanted._

His eyes tear up as he fists the cotton.

_No one wants you,_

_no one needs you, and_

_no one loves you._

He sobs into his sheets and lets himself wallow in his misery for once. He’s so lonely and he hates it. He hates it, hates it, _hates it._

* * *

His descent into promiscuity began in high school, but Atsumu thinks the problem started much, much earlier.

Atsumu’s always been the annoying one out of the twins. It was just a fact of life, in the way that crickets began singing their songs in the summer or strawberry plants bloomed like clockwork in the Miya family’s garden.

He isn’t sure the exact point in time that differentiation was made. He’s certain that they were near indistinguishable as children, not only in the color of their hair and the chubbiness of their cheeks, but identical in personality as well.

Atsumu’s hunch, however, is that it started the day his mother pulled him aside. He was 4 years old and had just gotten a scrape playing in the creek near their house with Osamu.

“You two need to look out for yourselves, but also each other, alright? You especially, Atsumu.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, feather-light and kind as she stuck another Doraemon bandaid to his knee. “You need to make sure you keep your younger brother safe.”

_Younger brother._ Atsumu had blinked, nodded silently. _Osamu’s my younger brother._ He supposed, on some subconscious level, he had always known he was older, but that was the moment he realized the gravity of his age. That was the moment he knew he needed to be the tougher of the two. The protector.

From that point onward, he didn’t give a flying fuck if everyone hated him. If anyone so much as looked at his twin the wrong way, he was onto them in an instant. It didn’t matter if people thought he was annoying, or too loud, or too aggressive. His brother was more than enough, and this logic pushed him through his formative years all the way until high school.

High school, when it was obvious that people only wanted to be friends with Osamu.

High school, when it truly hit him that Osamu was the ‘better twin’.

High school, when Osamu didn’t _need_ him anymore.

At this point, Atsumu’s reputation preceded him. It was several hundred meters past the point of no return. Why bother trying to change when no one believed you? With perfect clarity, Atsumu can still remember the day he had tried to smile at every person he ran into. Right off the bat, Suna told him he looked like a creep and that _‘kindness didn’t suit him’._

That dealt quite the blow to his self-esteem. 

(It didn’t help that he’d had a crush on Suna since the day he’d laid eyes on him.)

So Atsumu gave up on benevolence and threw himself into volleyball instead, brutally overworking himself to the point of obsession. And when he wasn’t in practice, he used the only thing he could to receive validation—sex. 

It wasn’t long before his body count was a point of contention among the students participating in the school’s extensive rumor-mill. Atsumu was never sacred. Without a second thought, he bared himself to anyone who so much as asked, politely or otherwise. He became the ‘stuff of legends’ playing seven minutes in heaven at parties, indiscriminate make-out sessions happening with boys and girls alike.

The divide grew ever wider between him and his brother.

For the longest time, Atsumu thought he and Osamu had the same face. He was sorely mistaken. Apparently, Atsumu had one of those faces you wanted to suck face with in the closet of a trashy party and then never talk to again, while Osamu had the face of someone you would fall in love with. Osamu went steady with a girl for two consecutive years while Atsumu couldn’t go two weeks without hooking up with someone new. 

And yet, for all his debauchery and moral failings, Atsumu was always the more emotionally intuitive of the pair. The protector, the older sibling. The one who always looked out for Osamu.

This is how he ended up pushing his brother and long-time crush Suna Rintarou together, watching with a brittle smile as they walked off into the sunset.

A part of him broke that day.

* * *

Life in the MSBY Jackals was hard.

Life in general was hard without Osamu.

In those early years, when he was fresh out of high school with piss-yellow hair and a play style carefully moulded by his three years with Inarizaki, he was the only one even remotely his age on the team. He would later learn to read in between the lines with Inunaki’s harsh critique and Meian’s running commentary about his age. Honest to God, they were just concerned for him, but he wouldn’t realize that until much, much later.

In the meantime, he would find refuge in the headache-inducing lights of dirty nightclubs, blood thinned with saké and his pupils dilated with lust. It wasn’t uncommon for him to leave metal spoons in his freezer and his dignity behind in his drink. The sex was mind-blowing yet clinical in the way that it was his only tether to reality. 

Those years, no one really paid attention to him. The rough-and-tumble upstart rookie with a crude mouth to boot, his teammates were still waiting on him to prove himself. It was difficult to do so when he felt like collapsing in on himself without his better half.

Looks like Osamu would be the happier twin, after all.

* * *

Solace came in the form of Bokuto Koutarou.

Perpetually bright-eyed but blessedly lacking in the naieveté Atsumu had expected of him, he was the second member of the ‘Monster Generation’ to join the Jackals. They had hit it off immediately, their chemistry obvious from the tryouts alone. Their relationship didn’t end on the court, however. It wasn’t uncommon to find him traipsing down the hall to share a beer or play video games in Bokuto’s apartment. Atsumu found himself happier, healthier, and while he wasn’t completely open about his emotions, he knew he’d learn to trust him one day. After Bokuto and Akaashi got together, however, Atsumu found that he barely had time for anyone else. He congratulated Bokuto on his relationship like any good friend would do, then slipped back into his old habits without another word.

Sakusa Kiyoomi came next. 

Atsumu didn’t know what to make of the man. Ill-tempered, eccentric, and an absolutely _phenomenal_ player, he broke every single one of his expectations. Sure, he had the faintest memories of him from the national youth training camp, but now he had truly grown into his wildly flexible limbs, his body a lethal weapon as he thundered across the court. And of course, it was a relief to have another player his age. But he was a man who liked to be clean, and Atsumu was anything but, and after the umpteenth time he had tried to befriend him, he threw up a white flag, retreating into himself. Atsumu would always be dirty.

Hinata Shoyou. Oh, where to even begin with Hinata Shoyou.

Sunshine reincarnate, lightning in a bottle, a goal that Atsumu can never even think of reaching. He had fallen in love with him in high school, watching a furious blur of orange flit across the court during nationals—and really, who hadn’t? His elementary school crush had blessedly died out since then, but seeing him again during tryouts, that beautiful sunkissed skin, courtesy of the weather south of the equator, made something thump painfully in his chest. _But,_ Atsumu had thought, watching him soar through the air like a new force of nature altogether, Hinata Shoyou had other priorities. He deserved so much more than Atsumu had to offer, friends or otherwise. 

So, with a sleazy smile permanently affixed to his face and a sense of false cheer, Atsumu settles into his team's practices each day. He gets along with them well enough, sure, but he makes no attempt to open up, to know them properly. He's never let anyone past his walls (besides Osamu, once upon a time) and he's perfectly content taking his emotions to his grave. 

He tries not to dwell on it too much.

(He's bent over a counter and being railed from behind when the cynical thought occurs to him: _Miya Atsumu. Pro-athlete by day, trashy whore by night._ He pushes his hips back to meet the man's thrusts in a silent demand of _'harder'._ If he can still think these thoughts, he's not getting fucked properly.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: alcohol and drug use, sexual assault*, unconventional self-harm.**
> 
> *If a partner does not wear a condom without your consent, it's sexual assault. Undoubtedly.
> 
> **'unconventional self-harm' - Atsumu is purposefully seeking out sexual partners who will do harm to him as a way to cope with day-to-day guilt and anxieties he has. It's not any sort of 'play', he is looking for people who will do violent things to his body.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no intent of slut-shaming or villainizing casual sex. However, in this context, it is incredibly unhealthy.
> 
> Please leave any feedback you may have. Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

The team is in the middle of heading off to their lockers when Meian shouts “Atsumu!” across the court. Atsumu’s shoulders hike up as he whips around. Hands cupped around his mouth, he hollers, “Meet me in the Coach's office after you’re done.”

Atsumu worries his lip, more than a little confused. Before he can catch himself, intrusive thoughts are hurtling through his brain a mile a minute, trying to pinpoint the moment he fucked up so bad to warrant a ‘talk’ with Meian. _I did alright during practice... but not fantastic. There’s always room to improve. Maybe I’ve been slacking off._ He forces himself to give a curt nod, finding himself face-to-face with his team captain not even ten minutes later.

Tentatively closing the door behind him, Atsumu steps into the room. After a moment of hesitation, he shuffles forward and sits in the empty chair. Meian is leaning against the desk with his arms crossed, looming over him, scrutinizing him. Atsumu swallows and tries not to squirm underneath the weight of his gaze. 

Meian Shugo is not an unknown variable but Atsumu’s been caught off-guard by him on several occasions. He runs a tight ship without keeping his players on a leash and has managed to nurture his team into a powerhouse along the way. This balancing act is no easy feat, and as such, Atsumu has always regarded him with the utmost respect.

His respect isn’t exactly _obvious._ Atsumu’s personality is obnoxious no matter how hard he tries to dial it back, so it’s near-instinct to talk back and throw jabs at him. Thankfully, he has a good sense of humor, but when Meian is _legitimately_ upset with him? It deals a devastating blow to Atsumu’s self-esteem.

He hates disappointing him.

He _really hopes_ he hasn't disappointed him.

“You’ve been avoiding us,” Meian says, matter-of-fact. A protest immediately bubbles up in Atsumu’s throat, but he cuts him off. “No, don’t try to deny it. You haven’t gone on a team outing in weeks, if not months.” He searches Atsumu’s face for something—Atsumu’s not quite sure what it is—and then sighs. “You know if this continues it’ll be an issue in terms of our dynamic.”

Atsumu flinches. _The weakest link._

“Look… is there something going on? I don’t want to make these judgments, but you look so… _tired_ all the time.” Meian runs a hand through his hair. “Not to mention wherever you disappear to after practice… you know we’re worried about you, right?”

“Oh,” Atsumu says, lamely. _Out of obligation, maybe._ “No, I ‘preciate the concern, but there’s nothin’ in particular.”

Meian presses his lips into a firm line. “You need to _talk_ to us, Atsumu.”

“I’m not lyin’. I don’t have anythin’ to ‘talk’ about.”

Meian stares at him a beat longer before he smirks. “Great! If you’re perfectly alright, you can go out with us to the bar tonight!” He lifts a brow. “Unless you have any… prior commitments you’d like to share with us?”

Atsumu freezes. _Ah. Checkmate._

* * *

Hands balled up in his pockets and ears freezing cold, Atsumu finds himself strolling down the streets of downtown Higashiosaka, 20 feet behind the rest of the group, who are all jauntily singing sea shanties as if they’re already shit-faced drunk. 

Luckily—or unluckily, he hasn’t determined yet—he’s not alone.

“Yer shittin’ me,” he mutters. He tries to act as if he doesn’t know the people directly in front of him. “Do they not have a fuckin’ ounce of shame?” 

“Believe me,” Sakusa drawls. “I ask myself the same question daily,”

Atsumu gives him a curious look. Sakusa is not a man he thought he would see tonight, but it seems as if this is a regular occasion. “How’d they wheedle you into coming along?”

Sakusa scrunches up his nose and immediately regrets, readjusting his mask before it slips down. “As cheesy as it sounds, even I know the importance of teamwork. Can you say the same?”

With a grimace, Atsumu sighs. “Yeah, I know I had that one comin’.”

Atsumu can feel Sakusa’s eyes still trained on him, but he refuses to look back. It feels like defeat, for whatever reason. Eventually, Sakusa looks away, observing the way Bokuto and Hinata jostle with each other on the street. “I will be the first person to say that I am difficult to get along with. My position in this team has been cemented by these… escapades of ours.” His words are sardonic, but his expression is fond.

Atsumu feels something soft in his chest ease up. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”

Sakusa mutters something under his breath, clearly not meant to be heard. “You’d know if you came with us.” Before Atsumu even has time to process, Sakusa clears his throat and speaks clearly. “It’s amusing, at least.” Up ahead, Bokuto hip-checks Hinata to the side and he collides with Inunaki, to their mutual displeasure. When the yelling starts, Sakusa rolls his eyes and amends his answer. “Most of the time. Welcome to the circus.”

Atsumu huffs a quiet laugh. “Sure seems that way.”

Adriah says something about Inunaki’s height that pisses him off, and he starts chewing him out in the middle of the street. Atsumu and Sakusa fall further back as the discord becomes more and more volatile.

“Miya,” Sakusa starts, voice uncertain. “I’m not sure how to ask this, but… are you alright?”

_First Meian, then Omi. Have I really been so obvious?_ Atsumu’s a somewhat decent actor after lying all these years, so he musters up a cheeky grin despite his unease. “Peachy keen!” he chirps. “You worried about me now, Omi-omi? Aw, so the tin man does have a heart after all!”

“Stop that,” Sakusa says sharply. “You don’t have to pretend to be so _peppy_ all the time. You’re a member of the team, not our mascot.” He pauses to contemplate his next words. “And of course I worry about you, Miya. You’re our teammate after all.”  
  


Caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice, Atsumu’s eyes flutter to the man beside him before turning back to the road, lashes beating like a hummingbird’s wings. “Alright then,” he says, personality more subdued. “I guess I’m not doin’ too hot right now, but it’s not a big deal.”

Sakusa speaks his next words haltingly, but with complete honesty. “If you. Need someone to talk to.” Sakusa coughs and looks away. “I’m willing to listen.”

Atsumu doesn’t even know how to answer. Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I thought you hated me!” His eyes are wide and his words are desperate. 

Sakusa’s next words are unexpectedly colored with guilt. “I never hated you,” he says. “I just… didn’t know how to talk to people. Still don’t, in some ways.”

As the team enters the building ahead of them, Atsumu smiles, small yet genuine. “I’d say you’re doin’ a pretty good job right now.”

Sakusa sighs, fiddling with his gloves. “Well, it would help if we practiced.” Ignoring the way Atsumu gawks at him, he walks briskly to catch up with the rest of their team.

The waitress, a young woman with short hair, gives Meian a high-five as soon as they step foot inside the Izakaya. Without a word, she leads them to a back room where they all settle around a low table with tatami mat flooring.

“The usual?” she asks.

A round of cheers comes from the team. 

She turns to Atsumu. “And what would you like to drink?” 

Atsumu, already having plans to bar-hop on his own later that night, shakes his head. “Just water fer me, please— “

“Boooooo,” Bokuto gives him a thumbs-down from across the table.

Hinata does the same, puffing up his cheeks. “Don’t be so lame, Atsumu!” The older members of the team laugh at their antics.

Atsumu bristles, fully ready to spit back a childish insult.

Sakusa purses his lips and gives him a pointed look. “They’re not exactly wrong.”

Atsumu’s protests die in his throat. “O-omi? Not you too!” Atsumu whines, ignoring the shock permeating his chest. “I can’t believe I’m getting peer-pressured by my own damn team!”

The team doesn’t even pretend to be sorry.

He throws up his hands in defeat. “Fine. Fine! I’ll have some umeshu.” 

The waitress scurries off to the bar as the team bursts into chatter.

* * *

Several hours later, the room is in complete chaos. 

Bokuto and Thomas are on their 3rd arm-wrestling match, having switched to their non-dominant arms after doing a ‘best 11 out of 13’ match. Inunaki is yelling in English on Thomas’ side while Hinata cheers Bokuto in rapid-fire Spanish. Hinata is also live-streaming the entire thing on his Instagram, answering random questions in between chants of “Ra, ra, ra, Bokuto-senpai ganará!” and “No hay con quien!” Meanwhile, Atsumu is pretty sure that Inunaki is just yelling English obscenities.

Barnes and Meian are sitting off to the side in a world of their own, gossiping and reminiscing about anything and everything— high school, their earlier years on the MSBY Jackals, the state of the current team. At the same time, they’re showing off pictures of their children and bragging about their athletic accomplishments. Every once in a while they add their two cents to the arm-wrestling, insulting Thomas or Bokuto. 

Sakusa and Atsumu, however, are quietly sipping on their alcohol, their heads swinging back and forth between their teammates like they’re watching a game of tennis instead of the most intense arm-wrestling match they’ve ever seen. Atsumu can see Bokuto’s back muscles flexing from where he’s sitting across the table. Wistfully, he sighs. It wasn’t too long ago that he was participating in the festivities alongside them, whooping and hollering with the best of them.

But these days, it was hard to muster up that kind of energy. He tried to save all of it for… less savory things. Speaking of… 

“‘M gettin’ kinda sleepy.” He carefully moves the bottom of his glass in a circular motion before finishing it all in one go. “I think it’s time fer me t’get goin’.” His Kansai accent thickens in between his teeth like sorghum, a byproduct of the alcohol.

“I’m coming too,” Sakusa pulls out his mask to reattach it to his face.

Atsumu tries not to let his apprehension show. He isn’t legitimately trying to go home, having already planned an escape route to one of the seedier, less-known bars in town. However, with Sakusa by his side, it’s all for bust. He tries to throw him off anyways. “Are ya sure? I won’t mind if you stick ‘round, I’m not _that_ drunk.”

“Don’t be so self-centered.” Sakusa’s eyebrows furrow like he’s scowling. “This may be a circus, but I’m not exactly the ringmaster of the shit show. I’ve had my fun.”

“You had fun?” Atsumu asks. “Didn’t look like it.” Belatedly, he processes Sakusa’s joke and snorts. And maybe he _is_ a little drunk because Sakusa gives him a withering look that would make a fully-grown man cry. Not Atsumu, though. He’s a frequent subject of this expression.

“I’m not going to deem that with a response. I’d like to go home.” He checks his watch. “Now, preferably.”

Atsumu flippantly waves his hand “Yeah, yeah.” He stands up a little too fast, bumping shoulders with Sakusa, an apology already on his lips. Sakusa doesn’t mention it, turning to Meian and giving him a nod. Their captain waves.

“Seeya around, Miya!” Meian flashes him a thumbs up. “Soon, hopefully. Relax! Loosen up!”

Atsumu barely bites back the reply _, ‘Oh, I’m_ loose _enough as is.’_ A very mature thought. He gives a half-hearted wave back and then briskly follows after Sakusa.

* * *

The walk home is not uncomfortably silent, but Atsumu feels compelled to speak anyway. “Is yer offer still open?” he asks. He just barely avoids tripping over his words.

With a hum, Sakusa nods.

“Don’t ever tell th’ bastard, but I miss my brother.” He hiccups. “I miss ‘im so much.”

It’s silent for a long stretch of time, and Atsumu regrets speaking more each passing second.

“Nevermind—”

“I understand,” Sakusa replies, words so quiet Atsumu’s not convinced he’s even heard them. “...Well, not entirely, but I can see why you would miss him. If you spend your whole life joined at the hip, of course you’re going to miss Osamu, whether you want to or not.”

Atsumu swallows, voice dying in his throat.

“And that’s not a role that a different person can take. That’s not a void you can easily replace.”

“I just,” Atsumu starts. “I jus’ don’t understand. I spent almost all my life thinkin’ we were goin’ to go to th’ Olympics together or die tryin’, but then he…” He trails off. “I dunno. He’s got his own dreams, ‘abandoned’ seems a little too harsh on ‘im. But he _left.”_

The silence is longer this time.

“You’re afraid of being alone,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu bristles. _That too-blunt bastard._ “Ain’t everyone? It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

“No, but not everyone spends their formative years with someone constantly by their side.”

“And what’s yer point?” Atsumu, at the end of his rope, snaps.

“You don’t _need_ to be afraid.” Sakusa hesitates before pulling down his mask, turning to face him. “You’re not alone, Atsumu. You have all of us. We’re just waiting for you to reach out.” 

Atsumu’s heart leaps into his throat. 

“We don’t know what you do after hours, disappearing into the night, why you’re so desperate to escape all of us, but when you’re ready… we’re here.”

“...Why’d you take yer mask off?” Atsumu smacks a hand over his mouth. He didn’t mean to ask that.

Sakusa smiles, bittersweet, before tugging his mask back onto his mouth. “This offer necessitates… vulnerability. It goes hand-in-hand with honesty, you know.”

“Thank you,” Atsumu says. He doesn’t like how raw his words are, how they’re offered up so earnestly, but he can’t say he minds. It’s probably the alcohol speaking. “You can talk to me too. I mean, you probably don’t need it, you have yer shit together ‘n everythin’ and I’ve been told I’m a terrible conversationalist, but the offer’s still there.”

Sakusa snorts. “A convincing offer.”

“I wanted to reciprocate _somehow,”_ Atsumu pouts. 

Sakusa hums. “Hm. Maybe some other day. For now, let’s get some rest.”

* * *

Atsumu’s relationship with Sakusa, startlingly enough, does not end there.

He had always lived with the fact that the man would keep him at a perpetual arm’s length, literally and metaphorically. Imagine his shock when that began to change.

It wasn’t immediate, and it doesn’t show during practice. Their dynamic didn’t change then. They still butt heads and bare their teeth and deliberately fire shots at each other in the form of higher sets, snarky comments, deliberately aimed spikes—

But the interactions they shared afterwards were tinged with a quiet understanding. It became more and more common that Sakusa would wait patiently for Atsumu and they would take the bus to the athletic housing together. A silent agreement that came in the form of raised eyebrows, subtle jerks of the head, nods and headshakes seeming to say ‘Go ahead,’ or, ‘I’m staying behind today’. 

As grateful as Atsumu is to have a friend(?), it’s becoming harder and harder to conceal his less… savory habits.

He’s taken to forbidding his partners from marking him up anywhere above the collarbones. Not that they necessarily listen, but it’s definitely an improvement. Waterproof concealer hides dark circles under his eyes from partying until the small hours of the morning, diligently applied before he dashes out of his apartment. He stocks up on hangover relief supplements and drinks honey lemon tea religiously so he doesn’t sound like a 30-year-old chainsmoker.

Apparently, getting throatfucked can take a lot out of a man.

As the days pass him by, Atsumu realizes he’s still not sure why he’s gone through the effort of hiding himself from Sakusa. It’s not as if he hasn’t witnessed depravity in its many forms, he did grow up in _Tokyo_ for fuck’s sake. Atsumu scrubbing his personal image clean won’t make him any less dirty, and yet, he's terrified.

Where would Atsumu even begin? The drinking? The drugs? Dancing? Sex? Can he even call it sex? _Whoring himself to anyone who so much as looks at him_ seems more accurate. 

What if he tells Sakusa and he thinks he’s disgusting? He can already hear it in his head. _‘He’s filthy, he’s irresponsible, he’s a moron. He’s a societal degenerate and a harm to the team, etc. etc. etc.’_ He has every right to do so but Atsumu still wants to hold onto the _thing_ developing between them. It’s selfish of him to keep it to himself, he realizes.

But this is the first time he’s had someone to himself in a long, long time.

And he wants to enjoy it while it lasts.

Atsumu tries not to dwell on that thought. One morning he stumbles into his bathroom and looks into his dirty mirror to check how horrendous his bedhead is. When he glances down at his neck, he gasps. All the marks on his neck had faded. He was _clean._

“You sure seem chipper today,” Bokuto says, words muffled as he changes into his practice jersey. “Special occasion or something?”

Atsumu shakes his head, similarly occupied. It does take him a moment to realize he’s _smiling_ though. He keeps his tone light. “Nah, there’s nothin’ special. Why’d ya ask?”

When he turns, he isn’t prepared for the intense look in Bokuto’s eyes. He gives Atsumu a long, unreadable look, holding Atsumu in place. “Kou…?” he asks. They’re the last two in the locker room and at this rate, they’re going to be late for warm-ups.

“...I’m glad,” Bokuto says. He reaches forward and claps a hand on his shoulder, giving him a look far softer than Atsumu expected. “You deserve to be happy, Atsumu. I hope you know that.”

He leaves Atsumu behind with a stunned expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [12/14] Update: Fixed some inconsistencies and broke chapter 2 into two separate parts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter in end notes.

Today is a bad day. 

Idly watching the city pass him by from the seat on his bus, Atsumu sighs.

They won, sure, but it doesn’t feel that way for him. The sports commentator had taken a certain glee in picking apart his every move, and Atsumu was _not_ happy to find him spewing critiques on twitter where people tag him with twisted words of their own. The worst moments of the game won’t stop repeating themselves in his head, taunting him as he scrolls through insult after insult on social media.

He needs to deal with this the only way he knows how.

He needs to ruin his body with another man’s teeth. He doesn’t care how long it took for the hickies to disappear—he just wants to be held down and roughed up so much he fucking bleeds. He was never clean. It’s just _collateral._

Sakusa’s voice interrupts his violent fantasy. “Miya.” He snaps his fingers directly in front of Atsumu’s face.

“Hrm?” Atsumu breaks out of his trance, finally looking up from his phone.

Sakusa’s eyes flit to the screen and back to his face, brows furrowing.

Atsumu turns his phone off.

“...We’re back,” Sakusa drawls. 

Only then does Atsumu glance around, realizing that the rumble of the bus engine had cut out, and they were sitting, stationary, in front of their apartment complex. He runs a hand through his hair, exhausted. Maybe he should try not to piss him off for once. “Oh. Thanks, Sakusa-san.”

Sakusa’s brows furrow in distaste. “...Formality doesn’t suit you,” he sighs, turning his back to walk down the narrow aisle of the bus.

Atsumu blinks but scrambles to follow suit, not wanting to keep the bus driver waiting. “Wait, so do you _want_ me to call you Omi-omi?” he hollers.

Sakusa ignores him.

Atsumu gives a cursory “Thank you!” as he nears the front, smacking the sides of the seats with his duffle bag as he meanders down the aisle. When he trips down the bus’ stairs, he almost cracks his head open on a patch of ice that had formed outside the lobby of the building, but Sakusa catches him with a grunt as the bus roars back to life.

“Thanks,” Atsumu mutters, straightening up and stepping aside as the bus pulls away.

Sakusa’s mask shifts, and Atsumu has a feeling he was gnawing at his lip.

“Cat got your tongue?” Even Atsumu’s teasing falls flat, mood too glum to keep up the act.

Sakusa sighs. “Come over to my apartment.”

Atsumu’s brain short-circuits. “What?” he asks, embarrassingly high-pitched, his heart beating with the pitter-patter of a rabbit’s run.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Sakusa shifts his weight back and forth over the weight of his feet, seeming oddly young. Seeming, for once, like he was the age he actually was. “Today was…rough. You look like you could use a warm meal.”

Atsumu blinks, unsure of what to do with his kindness.

On one hand, he’s incredibly touched. 

On the other hand, he knows he doesn’t need a ‘warm meal’.

What he _needs_ is to be degraded.

For someone to make it hurt.

To be ruined so well and so thoroughly he forgets his own name.

Sakusa’s face falls. Only his eyes are visible, but Atsumu has become more familiar with the catalogue of Sakusa’s expressions than he realized. “Never mind,” Sakusa mutters, annoyance with an underlying current of _hurt._ He brushes past him.

“Wait!” Atsumu reaches out, almost grabbing at his sleeve before catching himself and pulling back.

Sakusa whirls around, but surprisingly, doesn't distance himself. “What?” he asks sharply.

Atsumu looks back at his eyes. “I would love to have dinner with you,” he says, his mouth barely forming around his words, lips numb from cold. He then looks away, bashful, just realizing the implications of his words. 

Sakusa brows raise in surprise. He gives a curt nod and hurriedly moves to head inside. “Well, come on then. The curry isn’t going to cook itself, and we’re hardly getting any younger standing here.”

Atsumu adjusts his duffle bag over his shoulder and moves quickly to follow. _The tips of his ears are red,_ he realizes. Then again, every part of him is red. It’s freezing outside.

* * *

Atsumu doesn’t have any other words for it. Cooking dinner with Sakusa is… domestic.

After quickly stopping by his apartment to toss his bag in and get a fresh change of clothes, Atsumu finds himself at Sakusa’s _genkan,_ a bottle of hand sanitizer, a new pair of room shoes, and a floral print headband being shoved at him.

“What’s with the headband?” Atsumu asks, having already tugged on the slippers and sanitized his hands.

“Pin your garish mane back,” Sakusa says, effortlessly throwing his hair into a half-up half-down ponytail. “If your stupid blonde hair gets in my curry then it’s ruined.”

“I think it would be _our_ curry if I’m helping out,” Atsumu snarks. “And the flowers?”

Sakusa has already turned around, treading back to his kitchen. “It was my sister’s.”

Surprisingly enough, Sakusa volunteers to take care of the meat. While he meticulously cubes the beef, Atsumu does everything else. Usually, he would wash his rice two to three times, but today he washes it five times just out of nerves. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at him like he’s crazy and he shrugs back helplessly. After he sets up the rice cooker, he peels the potatoes. Sakusa joins him soon thereafter, slicing the carrots in a flash and then dicing the potatoes as Atsumu goes along, the shapes bafflingly even.

They end up chopping the onions together, and subsequently, when it starts to burn their eyes, they both tear up at the same time, squeezing their eyes shut in pain before laughing at each other’s expressions. 

They throw everything in a pot and while they wait for it to boil, Atsumu chops up the curry stock the way he had watched Osamu do it growing up. “What the hell are you doing?” Sakusa asks. His voice is less offended and more confused.

“Uh, choppin’ up the roux?” Atsumu has his tongue stuck out in concentration. “Makes it dissolve way faster in th’ pot. Less chance you’ll get a mouthful of the stuff, too.”

Sakusa looks like he’d been slapped upside the head. “Why didn’t I think of that sooner,” he mutters. 

Atsumu just laughs at his expression.

* * *

“Itadakimasu!”

Digging into his rice with his chopsticks, Atsumu’s eyes go wide. “This is incredible!” he says around a mouthful of potato.

Sakusa swallowed. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he says sharply, but the beginnings of a smile are forming on his face.

Rice stuck to his cheek, Atsumu swallows. “Seriously though, what’s yer secret?”

“Not really a secret, but use apples.” He takes a sip of his tea. “Grate to taste before adding the stock.”

“Culinary genius,” Atsumu whispers. The curry isn’t anything like Osamu’s but somehow, it still tastes like home. Swallowing down another mouthful and savoring the delicate flavor, he smiles at Sakusa. “Thank you for invitin’ me over tonight,” he says, as sincere as can be. “I think it was just what I needed.”

Sakusa shakes his head and hides his face in his bowl. “Shut up and eat your curry.”

They destroy their dinner together, quietly exchanging entertaining stories about their siblings, carefully avoiding any discussion of the game. Atsumu regals Sakusa with the tales of Osamu’s worst customers, while Sakusa shares horror stories about Komori’s nightmarish tinder dates. 

As Atsumu’s hyena laughter echoes around the apartment, closely followed by Sakusa’s exasperated chuckles, Atsumu can’t help but notice that his smile is lovely.

* * *

When it comes to alcohol, Atsumu isn’t a lightweight, but tonight’s previous events are making him question that.

_He had come to drown his sorrows in alcohol._

_They had lost. It was a practice match, luckily. Everyone took it in stride, being a good sport and shaking hands with the opposing team, promising to do better next time._

_But Atsumu, as always, took it especially hard. It weighed on him. So he brushed off everyone’s invitations to dinner and went directly to a bar across town._

_He had only had a few drinks, most of them being courtesy of strangers eyeing him up and down. Being pretty, he supposed, had some advantages. As glass after glass was pressed into his hand, his mood started to recover from his team’s loss. He felt great. Fucking fantastic, really. Hitting the dance floor, his euphoria peaked as he bumped and grinded against all manner of strangers._

_When a man tugged him by the wrist with a lecherous in grin, he was quick to follow him off the floor. He sucked him off in the back of a bathroom stall, demurely fluttering his lashes the way he had perfected years ago. After the man came, he fingerfucked Atsumu with abandon, marking up his neck along the way. Atsumu wasn’t in the right state of mind to tell him to stop and couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed either. It felt good, and ‘used goods’ seemed to be his brand at this point._

_That specific affair had taken less than 20 minutes and the night had just begun. Optimistically, Atsumu thought it said volumes about the way it would end._

_But then he returned to his seat at the bar and his head spun and his stomach turned and his barely-there mind realized something was wrong. Very, very wrong._

_He wanted to ask for help, but the bartender was busy playing catch-up with a rather voluptuous woman, and he couldn’t get his throat to work properly._

_A different man appeared from seemingly nowhere. An intimidating build and a geometrically laughable jawline accompanied his garbage personality, manhandling Atsumu out of his seat and trying to play grab-ass without asking._

_Normally, Atsumu would be fine with that. But tonight was not that night, and even while he was drunk 6 ways to Tuesday Atsumu knew how to throw a mean right hook. When the man didn’t back off like he had asked him to, he had no problems proving that._

_He was promptly thrown out of the establishment._

Atsumu groans, the realization hitting him that his jacket is still inside the bar. He knows there’s no point in trying to retrieve it. He can hardly ask security to get it for him when they just kicked his ass out onto the street.

Still, it’s absolutely freezing. He tries to check the time, praying that the buses are still running, but his phone is dead from the cold. Looks like he only has one option.

_The sooner I get moving, the sooner I can get home. It would not be good to pass out on the street._ Pushing himself off the ground, he blinks spots out of his eyes and then begins the trek home.

Ambling through the streets with goosebumps crawling up his bare arms, he’s given odd looks left and right. At least he has his scarf, although it must be odd paired with his t-shirt. It almost feels as if he’s going in and out of consciousness, passing out in between each step forward.

He checks out.

The next thing he knows, he stumbles into the lobby, having dissociated the rest of the walk home. He not sure how he’s made it back to the apartment complex, but he’s also not going to question it. His lips are numb, his vision is blurry, and his arms are _not_ the color they should be. Trying to massage feeling back into his arm, he starts the final obstacle of his journey: the stairs. 

Not for the first time, he curses every god out there for not installing an elevator in his apartment.

Climbing the stairs of the complex at a snail’s pace—almost crawling after tripping several times—he finally makes it to his floor. Shoving the door to the stairwell open, it hits the wall with a loud _BANG_ and he flinches so badly he ends up with his ass flat on the ground.

It takes him at least ten minutes (could’ve been an hour, he’s so drunk he can’t even tell) to push himself up to his feet, and even then, he’s dizzy to the point he collapses against the wall, trying his best not to pass out from standing up too fast. He blinks furiously, seeing red, trying to ground himself with the reassurance that he’s almost home.

“Miya?”

A voice, dry and laced with a judgemental edge, cuts through the white noise piercing Atsumu’s brain. He squeezes his eyes shut. _Of course. Of fucking course. Just my luck, as always._ He presses his body against the wall even further, as if pretending not to see Sakusa will make him disappear.

“Hey,” Sakusa says sharply. Atsumu counts his steps as he wanders closer, sturdy slippers pressing against the carpet. When Sakusa speaks again, it’s softer. It’s concerned. “Miya, are you, alright—?” He gasps.

Atsumu finally swings his head around, eyes drooping with fatigue, but still capable of piecing together the man that stands before him.

“You’re _bleeding,”_ Sakusa murmurs. “Why are you bleeding? Where have you _been?”_

_I’m bleeding?_ Atsumu reaches his hand up to his forehead, and when he pulls it away, there’s both crusted and semi-congealed blood. _Oh. It must’ve been when they shoved me out the door._ Atsumu, with a considerable amount of effort, pushes himself off the wall and regrets it, noticeably stumbling and trying to hold back his nausea as he becomes increasingly dizzy. “Heyyyyy, Omi-omi!” he slurs, throwing up a peace sign. _Way to go, bastard. Real subtle of you._

Sakusa gives an irritated huff. Atsumu can’t see his expression, his head lolling from side to side as he tries to force himself back onto his feet, but he can imagine the disappointment. He waits for a snide remark, the tell-tale footsteps of his departure as he leaves Atsumu behind.

But, because Sakusa Kiyoomi is an anomaly, and so much more than Atsumu had ever even realized, he just hears a soft sigh before Sakusa slots himself underneath his arm, supporting him with broad shoulders and quiet strength. “C’mon,” he whispers. “Let’s clean you up and get you to bed.”

If Sakusa notices Atsumu's temporary speechlessness, he doesn’t mention it, or chalks it up to inebriation. Atsumu complies to the best of his ability, half-carried and half-dragged down the hall by the Black Jackals’ ace, slowly but surely inches his way to his apartment’s door.

“What happened to, you, Atsumu?” Sakusa asks this under his breath, more likely than not meant for Atsumu not to hear. “Is this a normal occurrence?” 

Atsumu answers his question anyways. “D-don’t worry ‘bout it, Omi-omi-kun,” he says. “Is’ no big deal.”

Sakusa makes a face as if he’d bitten into a rancid lemon. “How the hell am I supposed to not worry about it?”

And, oh, he’s _concerned._ He _cares._ That’s a kind of attention Atsumu hasn’t received in a long, long time. He twitches, stuck between feeling hot and cold.

“You stumble back to this apartment at 3 in the morning without a coat in the _dead of winter,_ drunk out of your mind and covered in blood. I…” His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Just think of it from my point of view, Miya.”

Atsumu trips in realization. “I-it’s 3 am?” he whispers, horrified. Oh, how he’s let the hours pass him by.

“Yeah,” Sakusa grumbles. “It’s 3 am. You woke me up slamming the door open.” He turns his head and sniffs, immediately making a repulsed expression, a face of regret. “Eugh, what did you even have to _drink?”_

“A lot of things, I dunno. I can’t remember,” Atsumu whispers. “People kept _givin’_ me stuff. I’m not usually a lightweight, but I guess it… it was really strong.”

“Did these people… who were giving you drinks... did you _know_ them?” Sakusa builds on his question slowly, the anxiety in his voice gradually escalating.

“No,” Atsumu sniffs. “Was I supposed to?”

“You took drinks from _strangers?”_ Sakusa hisses. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Atsumu protests weakly. “I mean, yeah, I guess they’re ‘strangers’ as you so kindly put it, but you’re makin’ it sound worse than it was.” 

Before he even knows what’s happening, Atsumu’s being shoved up against a wall. It’s forceful, but not unforgiving. He could probably squirm out of the other man’s grip if he wanted to, but there’s something about the intensity of which Sakusa looks down at him, pinning him against the wall, that renders him helpless underneath his gaze.

“Omi-omi?” he asks, voice smaller than he intended.

“Hold on,” he whispers. Sakusa pulls out his phone with one hand, flicking on his phone flashlight and directing it towards Atsumu’s face. Immediately, Atsumu squints and looks away, suddenly dizzy. _“Miya._ Just keep your eyes open for a moment, please.” A cold hand gently redirects his face back towards the bright light.

He obediently opens his eyes with nothing more than a groan. He isn’t sure what’s happening or how long they’re like that, standing in the hallway of their apartment complex while Atsumu valiantly tries not to pass out.

“You _idiot.”_ Mercifully, the flashlight turns off, but not before Sakusa lets out a colorful string of curses. He tucks himself underneath Atsumu’s arm again, but he takes him in the opposite direction of Atsumu’s apartment now.

“Omi?” he slurs, still trying to blink spots out of his eyes. Why does he feel so tired all of a sudden? “Wh’s goin’ on? Are we not gonna go t’ my apartment?”

Sakusa’s grip tightens around his shoulder as he pulls him closer. He opens and closes his mouth, searching for the right words. “No, I…” When he speaks again, he sounds terrified. “You were fucking _roofied_ Atsumu.”

A beat of silence.

“What?!” Atsumu yelps.

Sakusa gnaws on his lip nervously. “If you weren’t roofied, you were at the very least drugged.” He turns and scrutinizes Atsumu again. “Your pupils are two completely different sizes, not to mention the fact that you’re burning up and—” He comes to an abrupt stop, and Atsumu nearly trips over his own feet when a hand reaches out and presses against his chest. “—Fuck. Your heart rate’s way too low. I’m not letting you stay alone in your apartment tonight.”

Atsumu’s breath starts to come faster, the anxiety settling in his bones. _I was drugged._ The man who tried to get too familiar with him at the bar suddenly seems a lot more sinister. “Wh-what’s going to happen to me?” he gasps out.

“Breathe Atsumu, you need to _breathe.”_ Sakusa’s voice is strangled as he starts walking again. Atsumu tries to follow, but his legs aren’t keeping up with the program. “You’ll be fine. I’ll take care of you. It should be out of your system in the next 24 hours or so, and if the symptoms get worse I’ll take you to a hospital.”

“How… chivalrous…” Atsumu wheezes.

Sakusa’s words are unsteady as he soldiers on. “God, Atsumu, you’re so lucky you made it back here. You could’ve been r-raped, or something worse—” His voice breaks off as his eyes widen. “N-no one touched you right?” he rasps, as if he’s afraid to ask.

“No,” Atsumu sniffles. He better not catch a cold. “No, not that I can remember. This guy _tried_ grabbin’ my ass but I broke his nose. They threw me outta the bar and I couldn’t even get my jacket back,” he whines.

Sakusa pulls him impossibly closer, his lip curling downward in distaste. “Those fuckers.” His expression softens a touch. “At least you got a good punch in. We can go back tomorrow and get your stuff back.”

“...Thanks Omi-Omi,” Atsumu sighs, his legs feeling like lead. His lungs feel like they’re half the size should be, and the world is spinning all the while.“Wh-why is walkin’ so… so hard?” he asks, huffing and puffing. 

His knees give out and he collapses in Sakusa’s arms.

With nothing more than a gentle sigh, Sakusa picks Atsumu up bridal style, cradling him close to his chest and briskly walking to his apartment with little-to-no effort. Atsumu doesn’t resist, looping his arms around Sakusa’s shoulders, fidgeting with the loose curls at the nape of his neck.

Obediently, when they get to the entrance of the apartment he gets back on his feet so that Sakusa can dig through his pocket for his keys.

“‘M sorry you have to deal with this,” he mumbles, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“You’re not a burden, Atsumu.” The door clicks open and Sakusa spares Atsumu a strained glance. “But… please, tell me the truth. What have you been _doing?”_

Atsumu’s throat feels tight. He doesn’t reply.

* * *

Despite being wrapped in a blanket, Atsumu twitches and shivers. He’s hot and cold and nothing at once, still recovering from the winter air while the alcohol makes his blood run hot. The drugs are probably making both extremes worse.

Sakusa takes long strides into the living room, settling next to Atsumu on the couch with a first-aid kit in hand.

“Sorry,” Atsumu repeats.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Sakusa replies. Pulling on a pair of gloves, he carefully soaks a cotton round with hydrogen peroxide. “Careful. This might sting.”

When Sakusa dabs at Atsumu’s forehead, he doesn’t react. “Huh,” he says. “I can’t feel anythin’.”

Sakusa grimaces, swearing under his breath once again.

“My, my. Didn’t realize you had such foul language, Omi-kun.” Atsumu’s joke falls flat as Sakusa shoots him an unimpressed look. “Right, right,” Atsumu mutters. “Sorry.”

“Again. No need,” Sakusa mutters. As soon as he’s finished cleaning the wound, he stands up, disposing of his gloves and the cotton. “I’m going to get you some paracetamol.”

Atsumu nods, yawning. As another hot flash passes through him, he winces, peeling the blanket off of him and scrabbling at his neck, remembering his scarf. He tosses it aside.

When Sakusa returns, he’s holding a glass of water and a blister pack of paracetamol. “Atsumu, take this—” He ends his sentence abruptly.

“Omi?” Atsumu asks, voice small. 

Sakusa makes some sort of strangled noise, carefully putting the glass down. “Atsumu… who… I thought you said no one touched you.” Almost subconsciously, his hands travel to Atsumu’s neck to poke and prod at tender skin.

Atsumu’s breath hitches and Sakusa withdraws his hands. His memories are fuzzy, and sorting through the static is disorienting. “I… he…” His head spins. “... I... didn't remember,” he whispers, eyes widening.

For a moment, Sakusa doesn’t respond before he turns away. Pacing back and forth aggressively, Atsumu can hear him whisper, “No, no, no, no, no…”

Honestly, Atsumu doesn’t think it’s _that_ bad. Nothing hurts, really. “Omi, everythin’s fine,” Atsumu pleads. “It's not a big deal."

Sakusa turns to Atsumu. “You’re not kidding,” he mutters. This is the most emotional Atsumu’s ever seen him. His expression hardens. “We should go to the police station.”

“No!” Atsumu shouts, surprising both of them. “No, don’t—! I-I _wanted_ it!”

“How could you have wanted it? You can’t even remember what fucking happened!” Sakusa grabs him by the shoulders, eyes crazed. “You were _assaulted!”_

In a fit of anger, Atsumu stands up and shoves Sakusa backward, where he falls onto the floor, stunned. “But it’s my fault for gettin’ drugged in the first place!” Atsumu yells.

Sakusa falls silent. The only apparent sound is Atsumu’s ragged breathing.

“It’s my fault,” Atsumu repeats, voice cracking. He falls back onto the couch, vision blurring. “It’s my fault.”

A pair of arms wrap around him and he sinks into the touch. He doesn’t realize the tears have fallen until he’s full-on sobbing.

“You can let it out,” Sakusa whispers. “I’m here.”

"It's my fault, it's always my fault." Atsumu's almost hyperventilating. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry…” he says it over and over and over again. He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. _Please forgive me._

“Save your breath.” Sakusa simply hugs him tighter. “It's not your fault, you don’t need to apologize.”

And it hurts,

the way he holds him

like he gives a damn.

Like maybe, just maybe,

he could love him.

Atsumu laughs hysterically.

_As if anyone could love me._

  
Atsumu gives one last stifled _“Sorry,”_ and then the world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Non-consensual drug use*, alcohol, sexual harassment, possible sexual assault**, sexual self-blame.
> 
> *The portrayal of 'roofies' in this is most likely inaccurate. I did do research ([1](https://www.thecut.com/2014/10/what-you-might-not-know-about-getting-roofied.html), [2](https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/320409#types), [3](https://www.quora.com/What-is-it-like-to-be-roofied), [4](https://www.webmd.com/mental-health/addiction/date-rape-drugs#1)), and I have been drugged without my consent, but not with a date rape drug. In real life, it is unlikely Atsumu would've been able to even stand upright.
> 
> **It is up to your interpretation who, exactly, drugged Atsumu.
> 
> Please leave any feedback you may have. Thank you.
> 
> [12/14] Update: Fixed some inconsistencies and broke chapter 2 into two separate parts.


	4. Chapter 4

_...Mmm…Huh… _

_...Have my sheets always been this scratchy…? _

Atsumu’s eyes fly open as he jerks into a sitting position on the bed. Immediately, he regrets it. The lights are overwhelming, and he sat up way too fast. It feels like there’s a vice grip squeezing his head and now his heart is  _ pounding.  _ It seems like he got run over by a truck.

Not to mention the more… _ tender  _ pain in his lower back and thighs. Another spark of pain lights up in his neck.  _ The hell?  _ Subconsciously, his hand travels to his throat, fingers lightly brushing over the aching flesh. 

And then, he realizes.

Ah. He had one of  _ those  _ nights.

_ But why the hospital? How did I get into this situation? _ Atsumu tries to remember what happened, but his most recent memories fail him. He went to that bar, didn’t he? He was drinking, trying to forget the crushing defeat of their last game, looking for a pretty face or two to pounce on. But it wasn’t like he was doing shots of tequila or anything, there’s no way he could’ve gotten blackout. That doesn’t explain the… the blank spot in his memory.

Atsumu knows what alcohol-induced memory loss feels like. This is something worse. There’s  _ nothing  _ he can remember after heading to the bar.

_ What happened last night? _

Blinking away the spots in his eyes, Atsumu tries to take in his surroundings. He’s in a hospital room, and next to everything is blindingly white. The floors, walls, ceiling, bed, etc. There’s a heart rate monitor hooked up to his pointer finger and an IV drip attached to his forearm. Uncomfortable, but not the worst. It’s better than waking up with a tube down his throat or a cannula in his nose.

Feeling more awake, he starts to fidget. Shuffling around the bed to find the remote, he raises the back of the bed so he can sit comfortably. Now, to call the nurse—

“Atsumu?” A voice, filled with disbelief. Tentative hope.

Atsumu drops the remote. “Omi?” he whispers.  _ He said my name. _ Distantly, he hears his heart rate monitor speed up. He still hasn’t looked up, still hasn’t checked if Sakusa’s really there or not. The last couple of times he landed himself in the hospital, he woke up alone. Atsumu doesn’t want to break this illusion.

_ “Miya,” _ Sakusa breathes, voice filled with such relief that Atsumu just has to look up and  _ oh— _

Gold meets dark eyes and  _ yes, _ that is Sakusa Kiyoomi in the flesh, bird-boned fingers delicately slipping his mask off his face. 

Sakusa drags his chair forward so he can sit closer to the bed, and then collapses back down in a heap. “How are you feeling?”

Tactful as ever, Atsumu blurts, “You look like  _ shit,”  _ before smacking his free hand over his mouth. Even if it’s too late to take back, it’s true—his eyes are bloodshot, his dark circles are pronounced, his hair is wild and untamed.

Sakusa scowls, slumping down in his chair even further. “And whose fucking fault is that?” he snaps.

Atsumu flinches.  _ I did something wrong,  _ something whispers. “Me?” he asks, voice small.

Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “God, just—what’s the last thing you remember?”

“W-we, uh. We lost, so I decided to go out drinkin’.” Atsumu looks down and starts picking at his nails, nervous. “Everythin’s gone after that.”

“Everything?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Atsumu tries to recall anything from the haze of last night. He draws a blank. “Yeah, nothin’, sorry.”

Sakusa chews at his lip. “And you weren’t drinking excessively or anything, right?”

Atsumu furiously shakes his head despite his stiff neck. “I-I wasn’t tryna drown my sorrows or anythin’, I just wanted to take my mind off things.”

A tense silence ensues.

“Well?” Atsumu’s voice has never been so small. He doesn’t want to ask, but he also needs answers. “What happened?”

Sakusa buries his face in his hands. Refuses to make eye contact. His words are hesitant, drawn out. “You… At the bar, someone slipped something into your drink. I found you last night, incoherent, barely upright. Your pupils were two completely different sizes. You were scraped up” He takes a shaky breath. “I tried to get you cleaned up but you collapsed in my apartment and at that moment I thought my heart had stopped. I didn’t even know if you were able to  _ breathe.”  _ And Sakusa, who never loses his composure, is so pained his voice cracks.

Atsumu swallows. Hard. There’s a self-satisfied feeling in his chest that comes with the knowledge that Omi  _ ares  _ about him. He snuffs out that thought before it can get to him. Sakusa shouldn’t have to deal with his bullshit. “I’m sorry,” Atsumu croaks. “I’m really, really sorry ya had t’ deal with me last night.”

_ “Don’t.” _ Sakusa clenches his jaw, then slowly exhales. “Don’t apologize for something that isn’t your goddamn fault.”

“But I was careless.”

“You said it yourself.” There’s no give in his words. Nothing will budge. “You don’t remember anything. It’s not your fault for being drugged.” For some reason, he seems especially intent on those words. “Say it. It’s not your fault.”

Atsumu hesitates, making Sakusa’s expression go thunderous. “It’s not my fault,” he hastily says.

At least partially satisfied with his answer, Sakusa’s shoulders drop from where they were tensed around his ears. He reaches out, and with a surprising tenderness, clasps Atsumu’s hand in between his. Atsumu feels a bit weak at the touch.

_ Thanks for lookin’ out for me, ‘Omi. _

Before Atsumu can ask anything else, something in Sakusa’s face crumbles. “There’s… something else that happened to you last night.”

Atsumu’s eyes go wide, tilting his head to the side in a silent question.

Sakusa’s expression is heartbreaking. He takes a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak.

And then the door to the room slams open frantically, nearly making the pair jump out of their own skin, hands separating like they had been burned. Atsumu fights his blurred vision and squints at their newest visitor. The figure comes closer, and the hurried footsteps are a familiar pattern for him because— oh shit— is that—?

“‘Samu?” Atsumu gasps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Micro update, long chapter coming soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in end notes.

_ Even over the phone, Atsumu could tell Osamu was gritting his teeth. “I’m just sayin’, would it kill ya to visit me ‘n Rin every once in a while?!” He was seething with anger. _

_ Atsumu didn’t know what to say. _

_ After he had gotten Suna and Osamu to start dating, he couldn’t look them in the eye. It just hurt too much, always being the last choice, and seeing them together reaffirmed that in the most painful way. They looked beautiful together. Happy. _

_ Atsumu couldn’t stand it. And he hated himself for that. _

_ After a while, distancing himself from the couple became second nature. Even when the pain in his chest reduced to a mere ache—even when he finally got over Sunarin—he made sure to keep them just out of arm’s length. After isolating himself for so long, it felt like he was intruding every time he visited. Atsumu hated self-pity, but how would he even fix this? What would he even say?  _ ‘Hey, sorry for avoiding you for the past half decade. I was madly in love with your fiancé despite the fact I set you two up, so I tried to ignore you because it made me feel like shit. Now it’s ruining our relationship and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

_ It doesn’t help that they’ve entered yet another honeymoon phase. After moving in together, Osamu opened a new branch in Hiroshima, just for Rin. How sickeningly romantic. _

_ “I’m sorry ‘Samu.” Atsumu winced, sounding lackluster even to himself. _

_ “‘I’m sorry?’” Osamu huffed in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?” _

_ Atsumu felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I… don’t know what else to say.” _

_ “Un-fucking-believable,” Osamu damn near growled. Atsumu just knows he’s pinching the bridge of his nose right about now. “You know, I thought you’d be better about these types of things when you were the one who set us up. But I just have to wonder, is it because we’re gay? Is that it?” _

_ Osamu’s words, accusatory and furious, felt like a betrayal. Atsumu went to great, painstaking lengths to hide his sexuality from his family, which was painful enough. He never could’ve imagined this being one of the consequences. This hurt more than anything he could imagine. “No,” Atsumu said. “No, why would ya even _ **_think_ ** _ that?!” _

_ “I don’t _ **_know,_ ** _ ‘Tsumu. Maybe it’s because you can barely look us in the fucking eyes. Maybe it’s because it looks like it physically hurts you to see us together. Maybe it’s the fact that we have to beg and plead for you to visit when it seems like you don’t even want to be here!” _

_ Atsumu snapped, voice impossibly loud. “It’s  _ **_not_ ** _ about you being gay, and it never was! ” _

_ “Enlighten me then. Tell me, brother dear, why you can’t stand my presence anymore.” _

_ “I’m sorry I don’t want to take a five-hour train ride just to watch you ‘n Rin suck face, alright?!” Atsumu was almost screaming. “Maybe I just don’t want to watch ya two constantly make googly eyes at each other! You two are disgustin’ to look at!” _

_ There was a silence on the line. It was louder than anything else they had shouted that night.  _

_ “Get a life, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu didn’t even sound upset, just tired. _

_ Atsumu bristled. “Wh—” _ _  
  
_

_ “I know what this is really about, yeah?” Osamu said softly, ignoring his protests. “Don’t even try to deny it. You’re just upset—no, jealous—that no one’s ever wanted you like this before.” His voice was almost casual, like they were just talking about the weather. “You keep this shit up, no one ever will.” _

_ Ouch. _

_ Atsumu physically flinched. A punch to the throat would’ve hurt less. _

_ There was an extended pause after Osamu dropped that particular bomb. Atsumu held out hope that Osamu might apologize, might tell him he was being too harsh. _

_ Osamu’s voice took on a threatening tone. “I’m not going to let you take out your jealousy on me.” _

**_Click._ **

_ Atsumu put his phone down. He felt the tears roll down his cheeks before he realized he was crying. _

_ He didn’t take it back. _

**_Osamu didn’t take it back._ **

* * *

His twin looks out of place in the hospital.

“‘Tsumu,'' Osamu rasps, stepping forward like he can’t believe his own eyes. He looks him over, wincing when he sees his neck. There’s a million and one things passing through his face right now. Fear. Disbelief. Regret. He finally settles on relief.

Atsumu doesn’t know how to feel. He thinks back to the last time they talked, their argument ringing clear in his mind. 

_ “No one’s ever wanted you like this before. You keep this shit up, no one ever will.” _

He feels numb. He doesn’t know what to do, if he can handle this right now. But before he can burst into tears or do anything equally embarrassing, Sakusa steps forward and blocks Atsumu from Osamu’s sight. Sakusa glances back over his shoulder to check on Atsumu. He must not like what he sees, because his expression hardens before he turns back to Osamu.

Every time Sakusa takes a step forward, Osamu takes a step back.

Atsumu, more than ever, is grateful to have his prickly teammate by his side. The stress is almost making him dizzy.

Closer to the door, Sakusa and Osamu have a quiet yet heated discussion. Atsumu can only catch a handful of words at a time.

_ “...shouldn’t have come… enough happening as is…” _

_ “...’Tsumu… you know why I can’t…” _

_ “... it’s his choice… you don’t…” _

Osamu tries to muscle his way past, but Sakusa physically grabs him before hissing something. Insults, probably. Osamu gives him a reply that’s just as vicious.

They seem to be at an impasse.

Sakusa turns back around. “Do you want him here?” he asks.

Osamu gives him a pleading look.

Atsumu hesitates, but gives a single nod.

Sakusa lets go. That’s all it takes for Osamu to run over and crush his brother in a hug. “‘M here now, ‘m here now. Everything’s goin’ to be alright.” One arm remains firmly wrapped around his back while his free hand cards through Atsumu’s hair, coaxing him to rest his chin on his shoulder.

Sakusa looks on, concerned. He makes eye contact with Atsumu.  _ Are you alright? _ he mouths.

Atsumu mouths a  _ Yes _ in reply, but to be honest, he doesn’t know if his brother is still upset with him. It makes him anxious.

_ “You two are disgustin’ to look at!” _

He feels numb. “‘I’m sorry. I… I wasn’t myself the last time we talked. I fucked up.” He prepares himself for the inevitable shouting to begin.

Osamu seems as if he’s on the verge of tears. “No,  _ I _ should be the one apologizing.” He exhales heavily before he soldiers on. “It wasn’t fair t’ accuse you of the things I did, and I never should’ve hurt you like that. It was obvious there was more going on that meets the eye, and I didn’t even think about it before chewin’ you out. ‘Tsumu, I’m so sorry. I don’t know if you can forgive me right now, but you don’t have to. I’m here for you, okay?”

“O-okay…” Atsumu whispers, stunned. Arms shaking, he finally hugs Osamu back. The way Osamu stiffens does not go unnoticed. He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying to ground himself.

This has the opposite effect, making him stupidly  _ emotional, _ his eyes tearing up as he takes in his brother’s scent. He smells like fresh rice, the disinfectant they use to wipe down the counters at Onigiri Miya, and a hint of cedarwood cologne. Most of all, he smells like  _ home. _

“I love you,” Osamu whispers.

Atsumu can’t remember the last time he’s heard those words directed at him. God, his eyes are leaking. He tries to blink the tears away. “I love you too.”

_ He came for me. _

_...Why did he come for me? How did he know in the first place?  _ Atsumu tries to catch Sakusa’s eye so he can ask, but he seems determined to look away, probably trying to give them privacy.

Eventually, Osamu pulls back, reluctance clear in his expression. His hands, however, stay firmly planted on Atsumu’s shoulders, like he’s afraid he might vanish if he lets go. Osamu gives him a crooked smile, trying to comfort him. “Have ya talked to the doctor yet?”

“Not yet,” Atsumu shrugs. “I… I’m still not sure what happened.”

Unbeknownst to Atsumu, Sakusa tenses in his corner of the room.

* * *

_ Last Night _

A voice, thick and groggy with sleep, picks up on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

Sakusa’s throat constricts, his words long forgotten. When he exhales, he watches his breath form clouds of vapor. He considers hanging up, throwing his phone off the balcony, but the sight of Atsumu, collapsed and drugged out on his couch, reminds him of his purpose. He wills the tears forming in his eyes to disappear. 

The man on the other end gives a deep, long-suffering sigh. “If this is another prank call, I swear t’  _ God—“ _

“Miya-san?”

Osamu cuts himself off. “...Who is this?” he asks, suspicion clear in his voice.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Sakusa?” Osamu asks, now sounding much more awake. “Why...How did you get this number?”

“I asked Motoya.”

“‘Motoya’?”

“Yes, Motoya, my cousin,” Sakusa deadpans.

“Your _cousin—?”_ Osamu’s voice rises an octave before dripping back down. “You know what, I’m not...I’m not going to think too hard about that. What do you need, Sakusa-san? I’m hopin’ you wouldn’t call me at this hour without good reason.”

Sakusa pauses to gather himself. He grits his teeth, the night air permeating his skin.

There’s a shuffling in the background of the call before a quiet, near-indistinguishable voice speaks up. Sakusa freezes, can’t help but wonder who could be in bed with Atsumu’s twin. “‘Samu, who the hell… calling at this hour…” the voice rasps.

More shuffling. “Go back t’ sleep, I’m steppin’ out. I’ll just be in the livin’ room.” Footsteps. Osamu yawns into the receiver as he asks, “Sakusa-san? You still there?”

Sakusa takes a deep breath. “Have you noticed anything off about your twin recently?”  _ Anything, anything to explain how he’s been acting. How this could’ve happened. _

Another pause. God, this conversation was awkward.

When Osamu talks again, his words are slow. Careful. Piercing Sakusa’s guts. “Am I in the Twilight Zone? Am I hearin’ this correctly?  _ You’re _ askin’ _ me _ about ‘Tsumu?”

“Yes?” Sakusa’s reply is immediate. Visceral. “He’s your _ twin.” _

Osamu laughs and the sound is ugly. “Well, I guess you haven’t heard. We don’t really talk anymore. Not as close as we used to be.”

“What?” Sakusa hisses, more out of shock than malice.

“I mean, we still talk from time to time, maybe once every couple of months, but I’m not exactly my brother’s keeper. Last time we talked we got into a pretty bad argument.” Osamu sighs into the receiver. He continues, quieter this time. “I… I said some things I shouldn’t have. I really hurt him.” 

It’s at this point he realizes he might have overshared. There’s an awkward silence.

Osamu clears his throat. “So, no. As far as I’m concerned, ‘Tsumu’s just been his same, shitty old self.”

“Oh. I just assumed…” Sakusa gnaws on his bottom lip. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.” Internally, he has to wonder,  _ What the hell is going on? _

Osamu sighs. “I’m sure I can find it in my heart of hearts t’ forgive you.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. Ah. So Osamu inherited that ‘Miya charm’ as well.

“So what else do ya need? I’m damn sure you didn’t call me at 3 am just to interview me about my brother, I’ve got work in 3 hours and I value my sleep too much to deal with that shit right now.”

“Actually, I did. Not in the way you might think, though; I hope you can be patient with me.” Might as well cut to the chase. “To your knowledge, is your brother allergic to or taking any medication?”

Osamu gives a knee-jerk response of “What? No. Not that I know of.”

“Any serious allergies at all?” No use in sugarcoating it. “History of serious medical issues? Heart problems?”

“Again, no, no and no. What are you—”

“What blood type is he?”

“...Type B.”

Sakusa files away the information on a mental checklist. “Thank you Miya-san. I’m sorry to inconvenience you. I’ll be on my way now.”

“Now hold on just a minute, you can’t just ask me those questions without an explanation,” Osamu’s voice is slowly becoming more and more urgent. “What the hell is going on with Atsumu? Medication?  _ Heart problems? _ Is he okay?”

“I…”  _ If they’re as estranged as Osamu claims they are, I don’t know if Atsumu would feel comfortable with me telling him what’s happened. He’s been through enough, and that argument of theirs must have been bad enough for Osamu to admit he’s fucked up. _ “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to tell you.”

“Wh— _ appropriate for you to tell me _ —like hell it is! Maybe we’re not attached by the hip but he’s still my brother!” Osamu is  _ angry  _ now.

Sakusa feels antsy. This shouldn’t be his choice. “When this is over, he should come to you on his own.”

“He’s not going to tell me jack shit.” That righteous anger dissipates, replaced with sadness. “My brother is so closed off… If I don’t hear it from you now I might never hear it at all.”

_ Oh, fuck it.  _ “I am… currently wondering whether or not I should take your brother to the hospital.”

“What the fuck? For what? No, wait, shit. Where is he, put me on the phone with him right now.”

“...”

_ “Sakusa!” _ He stays silent. “Fine, I’ll call him myself—”

“His phone’s dead and he’s... incapacitated at the moment,” Sakusa mumbles, opening his balcony door to slip back inside. He needs to check up on him.

“Incapacitated,” Osamu repeats. “You need to cut out your vague, namby-pamby bullshit and tell me what’s happenin’ to my brother  _ right now.” _

_ He’s warm, breathing… still has a pulse… hasn’t thrown up...  _ Walking further away so as to not disturb Atsumu, Sakusa considers his next words very, very carefully.

“Don’t worry about it.”

There’s a beat of silence before Osamu is  _ yelling into his ear. _ “What the FUCK do you mean don’t worry about it—”

_ This is not how I thought this conversation would go, _ Sakusa thinks. He clears his throat. “Please forget I called. Your brother is perfectly fine.”

“—get a call at 3 am telling me you’re taking him to the hospital but you  _ won’t even tell me why—” _

“Please get some sleep. Goodnight, Miya-san.”

“He’s my  _ twin!  _ Oh no, don’t you  _ dare  _ hang up—”

Click.

Unsurprisingly, Sakusa’s phone immediately lights up again.

_ Incoming call: Miya Osamu. _

Sakusa sighs. Hangs up on the call. Scrolls through his phone. Gets another call, rejects it once again. He turns on  _ Do Not Disturb. _

Snagging his car keys and a coat, Sakusa yanks on his shoes and approaches the passed-out Atsumu. “You,” he starts. “Are incredibly lucky I can carry you. Although the jury’s out on whether or not I can carry you down the stairs.”

* * *

Sakusa, as it turns out, can carry Atsumu down several flights of stairs.

* * *

Sakusa dislikes hospitals for obvious reasons.

The air is stale, an everlasting presence of illness. No matter how many times they may have sterilized every floor, every surface, he’s skeptical. A rotating cast of patients shuffle through the waiting room, some of which are hacking up a lung, coughing without covering their mouths. Sakusa shudders, subconsciously checking that his mask is on properly.

On top of that, he feels restless. Ever since Atsumu had collapsed, he had adopted a mindset of  _ go go go, _ forcing himself to function for Atsumu’s sake if nothing else. He shoved all those  _ feelings _ he had to the side, compartmentalizing until he didn’t even know how to feel. Waiting here is allowing all these thoughts to proliferate again.

His imagination, the traitor, drifts away from him.

Atsumu, well-dressed and enchanting, waltzing onto the dance floor. Fabricates a faceless woman, walking over so she can grind against Atsumu. He reciprocates, of course, grabbing her by the hips. She turns around so she can press kisses against throat… starts nibbling his neck… 

Sakusa shakes off the thoughts, rubbing his temples as if trying to command his brain to  _ listen to him, dammit. _

Instead of stopping the images altogether, something darker takes its place.

Someone—a man—dropping a pill in a glass of liquor, watching it dissolve. Picking his victim, offering the drink to Atsumu, smiling as he falls victim to its effects. Taking him home and waving off concerned bystanders because he had ‘one drink too many’. Undressing a defenseless Atsumu…

_ Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  _ Sakusa tugs on his hair aggressively, pinpricks of pain travelling along his scalp. His eyes are squeezed shut, achingly so.  _ Make it stop. _

A woman dressed head to toe in white scrubs clears her throat, peering down at a clipboard and asking, “Is someone here for …‘Miya Atsumu?’”

Sakusa shoots to his feet, combing his hands through his hair to fix it. Wordlessly, he follows her through the double doors. She zigzags through the hall, maneuvering around spare equipment and wheelchair bound patients. The halls seem endless. Sakusa has lost track of how many turns he has taken.

Abruptly, the woman stops. Sakusa almost trips as she gestures to a non-descript door. He gingerly pushes it open.

Atsumu, despite being in a hospital bed, looks better. There’s color in his cheeks again and his chest rises and falls at a steady pace. But still, hooked up to an IV and a heart rate monitor, he looks out of place. Sakusa is so used to Atsumu and his larger-than-life attitude, it’s hard to see him still to such an unnatural degree.

“He’s been going in and out of consciousness,” the nurse says. Her voice is soothing, but for some reason, it puts Sakusa on edge. “The doctor will be here shortly.”

“Thank you.” 

She nods and leaves without another word.

As soon as the door closes, Sakusa drags the chair over to the bed and sits.

Watching.

Waiting.

His posture wanes as he slumps over the hospital bed, closer and closer to the man sleeping before him.

Atsumu’s hair is a little greasy, a little matted, blonde tufts sticking up in every which direction. The hickies on his neck seem to have gotten worse—darker, purpler, taunting Sakusa. There’s a small line of drool coming out of the corner of Atsumu’s mouth.

And yet… he’s beautiful.

Sakusa makes a  _ tsk _ noise and grabs a tissue, leaning over the bed so he can dab at the spit on his face.

_ Too close. _

Sakusa draws back, but he’s already seen too much. The gentle curve of his button nose, the teasing flutter of his eyelashes, the way that his lips puckered when his face was touched, even in his sleep.

He looks so peaceful like this.

And then the door opens and Sakusa whips his body back, scoots his chair, puts an acceptable distance between him and the bed.

“Good evening—well, it’s morning already.”

Sakusa bows his head at the doctor. “Good morning.”

Patiently, Sakusa waits as the doctor introduces himself. The man is straightforward about Atsumu’s condition. 

“We were unable to identify the drug in Miya-san’s system, but luckily it wasn’t enough for him to overdose. The drug is being flushed from his with the help of activated charcoal, and so far, it seems successful. If Miya-san is lucid the next time he comes to, he should be able to go home—as long as someone monitors him.”

“As for everything else…” the doctor trails off. “Those are decisions that the patient and only the patient can make. This hospital does not carry rape kits, so if he wants to get one done, he would have to pay for it upfront. I apologize.”

Sakusa blinks.  _ Christ. _

“It is also highly recommended he takes an HIV PEP—post-exposure prophylaxis, in the case of unprotected sex.”

Staring down at his wringing hands, Sakusa forces himself to speak. “Is that all?”

“Yes.” The doctor hesitates. “I apologize, Sakusa-san. We will do our best to assure he has a swift and well-supported recovery.” 

“Thank you,” Sakusa says softly.

The doctor leaves without another word.

Sakusa, once again, scoots his chair closer to the bed. He tentatively lays his head down on the mattress. Heart thudding, he lays his hand over Atsumu’s. It’s warm. The skin is soft, well-moisturized despite the brutal weather. 

Sakusa smiles and settles a little more into the soft material, getting comfortable. He can allow himself this much. After all, he didn’t sleep last night.  _ Just 15 minutes, _ he thinks.

He passes out in a matter of seconds. His sleep is deep and dreamless.

* * *

Sakusa stirs to the feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket. 

“Motoya. What is it.”

“Just a head’s up: Osamu’s in Higashiosaka.” 

Sakusa curses softly under his breath and hangs up. 

By coincidence, Atsumu begins to stir.

  
Sakusa braces himself.  _ Time to face the music. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for mentions of non-consensual drugging and noncon, they are not graphic and in passing.
> 
> My thoughts have been all over the place recently; I think this chapter reflects that. Apologies for the confusing narrative.
> 
> [edit]: Forgot to add this before. This chapter requires quite a bit suspension of disbelief. This is a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality, with what could be a stranger no less.


	6. Chapter 6

_ Present Day _

Osamu might’ve hopped on the soonest Shinkansen, made 3 transfers, and taken a taxi, but Sakusa had his car on standby the entire time.

According to the doctor, Atsumu was in no condition to take a train. They might have flushed the drugs from his system, but he was still feeling its aftereffects. Dizzy and exhausted, the stress of a crowded metro compartment could only mean bad things. Sakusa and Osamu were loath to agree, but annoyingly enough, the MSBY apartment was just a  _ bit _ too far for a cab.

This leaves Sakusa Kiyoomi’s car.

* * *

After Atsumu is discharged, the three of them walk to the parking garage. Sakusa and Osamu had butted heads, but both of them are willing to put their pride aside for Atsumu’s sake, now trying their best to stay neutral.

If Atsumu’s being honest, it’s disorienting. He almost misses when the two of them were bickering like cats and dogs, because now they’re focusing all their energy on him. He’s gone so long without having anyone look out for him besides himself, so now that he has not one but  _ two _ sets of eyes trained on him, he feels like they’re scrutinizing his every move.

Logically, he knows this isn’t the case. He should feel protected, loved, but all he can feel is his own guilt. He still can’t tell if he’s shaking or it’s just the elevator. But there’s a way he can overcome this. As soon as he recovers, he can go back to the bars, find a willing guy, go back to his apartment,  _ pretend everything is normal—  _

_ No! _

That’s what got him into this situation.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._ _This is why you need a babysitter, because you have no self-control even when your life depends on it. You should just be grateful you didn’t fuck up your body enough to miss practice, God forbid you miss any games. Sakusa and Osamu just need to wait around for your ass to recover, and then they can leave. They probably don’t want to stick around any longer than they need to—_

Osamu squeezes his hand.

Atsumu inhales sharply and squeezes back, running his fingers along his palm, registering every little bump and divot on his hand. There’s the callous underneath his index finger, hardened from years of contact with the grip of a knife’s handle. There’s the scar from when he broke a vase in primary school and tried to pick up the shards by hand. There’s the small mole on the back of his hand, the only physical differentiation they were born with. All accounted for.

The warmth is grounding, a physical lifeline connecting the two, and he looks up to see Osamu giving him a worried look. “You know yer not botherin’ us, right?” his brother murmurs, voice low. “We  _ want  _ t’ take care of ya.”

Atsumu’s jaw drops slightly, his mouth making a round  _ o.  _ Slowly, it stretches into a fond smile, and he gives a tired but genuine laugh. “Right, twin telepathy. Shoulda remembered.” That was how they ended up like this, after all. 

_ When Atsumu had gotten up from the hospital bed to leave, he felt weak-kneed and unsure. Just like when they were younger, he had reached for Osamu’s hand as a source of comfort, but retracted it just as quick. _

_ He wasn’t sure if Osamu would still entertain his childish requests. _

_ Osamu caught the movement from the corner of his eye and whipped around to drag him by the hand, his grip sure and steady. _

Atsumu would never admit it, but he felt giddy about that tiny act of brotherly love.

Sakusa looks over his shoulder to check that they’re still close behind, carrying Osamu’s bag. (He had insisted he hold it for him.) His face moves like he’s smiling under his mask. Atsumu hopes he is.

Atsumu takes a deep breath in, takes a deep breath out.  _ I am loved. I am cared for. I will be okay. _

The elevator door opens and they gasp.

The parking lot is above ground, and already, the sun is starting to set. (Atsumu had fallen unconscious one more time after talking to the doctor, making them leave a little later than they were supposed to. He supposes it was a good thing, because the view is gorgeous.)

(Silver linings.)

The dusk is beautiful. The sun shines through the Higashiosaka skyline, setting the buildings ablaze with burning scarlets and gold. The sun filters through tufted-looking clouds like strings of marigold, carving a path along the sky. It’s freezing and the world still seems warm.

It’s breathtaking.

After a minute of stunned silence, Osamu leans against his shoulder and sighs, letting his eyes flutter shut. “It’s lovely.”

Sakusa takes a moment then turns his head to Atsumu, now with his mask hanging off his ear, looking him directly in the eye and saying, “Beautiful.”

Atsumu blushes bright red and flusters for a moment, breaths coming out in small clouds of condensation as he tries not to react.  _ Why is he saying that to me? _

Sakusa smiles and then looks away. 

“Y-Yeah…” Atsumu gently pets the side of Osamu’s hair with a trembling hand, then messes with his hair. “It’s this pretty out and yer not lookin’?” Osamu pouts but doesn’t stop him, amusingly enough.

“Yer so annoyin’.”

“Love ya too.”

Osamu lightly punches him in the shoulder. “Ditto.”

Sakusa looks over at them fondly. At Atsumu’s curious expression, he explains. “Just thinking of my sister.”

Atsumu remembers the headband, brushing a piece of hair behind his ear subconsciously. “That’s real sweet.”

Sakusa hums in agreement and turns back to the sunset. Atsumu follows suit. 

Atsumu lets out a content sigh. “The view alone’s worth it fer the visit.”

“No it’s not,” Osamu and Sakusa both snap.

Atsumu holds up his hands in surrender, properly chastised.

* * *

After a bit more appreciative quiet, the walk back to the car is relatively short. “This one’s mine.” Sakusa holds out his keys and unlocks his car, making an  _ expensive _ looking sports car flash its headlights. 

Atsumu and Osamu look at each other with wide eyes.  _ Fuck. That car looks like it costs more than my entire life. _

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “Before you say anything,  _ no,  _ I am not stupidly wealthy like this car might suggest. It was a gift.” He opens the driver’s seat door and tosses the suitcase into the shotgun seat. “Get in.”

Osamu mouths  _ ‘Sugar daddy?’  _ to Atsumu. Atsumu steps on his foot in retaliation.

He turns to the (still staring) twins. “Well? Are you coming?” He manages to look more unimpressed. “You’ll catch flies with your mouths open like that.”

Atsumu laughs. “Somehow, you’re still full of surprises, Omi.” He opens the passenger door and blanches. On the black leather sits a white towel covered in dry, brown stains. Patches of his own blood.

Sakusa snatches it from the front seat, balling it up and hiding it. Atsumu pretends not to see anything.

After getting rid of the towel, Atsumu and Osamu get in the backseat, which is  _ not _ big enough for two men of their size. That doesn’t stop them from cuddling up while Sakusa backs out of the parking spot and starts the drive home. As the sun slowly sets, the darkness becomes a backdrop to city lights and stars.

Osamu is laying down in Atsumu’s lap. Atsumu wants to lay down too, but it would make his nausea worse. With his elbow propped against the door, he watches the view fly by. He idly runs his fingers through his brother’s hair.

Unsurprisingly, this makes Osamu go out like a light. Unlike Sakusa, he didn’t get any sleep in the hospital, too high-strung after talking to their parents over the phone. And his journey from Hiroshima had too many transfers for him to get proper rest.

Atsumu has always had problems with falling asleep and Sakusa drank a coffee before he started driving, so of course they’re still wide awake.

It makes Atsumu anxious. Because he knows Sakusa’s going to ask—

“Are you gonna tell him?”

Atsumu shakes his head. “No.” They speak in low tones, conscious of his brother’s sleeping form.

“Can we talk about it?”

Atsumu closes his eyes. “Do we have to?”

“I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” Sakusa is whisper-quiet and tentative. “But I’m here as someone who  _ cares  _ for you. I want you to have someone to rely on, to confide in. I can wait, I’ll be here when you’re ready, but please… ”

“Omi, I jus’... I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, y’know?”

Sakusa opens his mouth to speak and then decides against it. “Can I ask just one question?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu really wishes he could see Sakusa’s face.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell Osamu?”

There’s a burning feeling at the base of his neck. “The doctor didn’t understand.” His throat feels like it’s closing up. “It wasn’t like that. ‘N I don’t want ‘Samu worryin’ about more than he needs to.”

There’s a long silence. Atsumu takes comfort in the vibrations of the car.

“Atsumu. What happened to you was a textbook definition of  _ rape. _ You were drugged. Someone—touched you. You couldn’t have consented.”

Atsumu withdraws into himself. “It’s… more complicated than that Omi.”

“Please,” Sakusa says, exasperated. “Enlighten me.”

“...I need time.”

Quiet.

“When you’re ready, you know where my door is. But you’re not getting out of this conversation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Nearing the end._
> 
> [Edit]: Apologies for the short-lived promise about 'updates on Mondays'. The next chapter will take a little longer because it will be much longer. Thanks.


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